Curiosity
by ghostTrick
Summary: The team split up years ago but Joe quietly struggles with loneliness and the troubles of assuming the normal human life he wanted. On the way to New York he meets a stranger they thought dead and can't help but accept an invitation.


**A/N: I have a bad tendency of writing only once every couple of years. This fic for example had been sitting on my desktop for about a year. That is till finally getting sick of the clutter and lacking internet for a few days. Anywho please enjoy this _uneventful_ snippet.**

* * *

Echoes of a bugle faded into the wet November morning quickly replacing the mutter of indiscernible voices. The service was officially over. As warm bodies of the crowd began dispersing Joe found himself open to the frigid air he had no care for. A puff of vapour escaped from his mouth with a sigh. He fiddled with the coat collar he really didn't need and pulled it to cup his jaw line out of habit. Fall was well into full swing, with trees in the park already naked of leaves and the soggy grass underneath smelling of earth.

With most people gone, only a few remained to lay tokens in a more personal moment. Joe had no reason to stay but he trudged over to the wreath covered monument in interest. He didn't recognize any of these names like usual but he couldn't help but feel saddened at the waste. Hundreds of names marked the stretching wall. Off in the distance, a young girl placed flowers upon its base before quickly withdrawing her little hands. She bounced back to her waiting parents in a huff.

An amused smirk grew upon Joe's face. _Guess it is cold after all,_ he mused.

Suddenly a man's voice rasped next to him, "I don't believe it."

Joe hated how the grip on the pistol in his pocket grew and leg muscles tensed. That was directed at him right?

Joe concentrated his senses on anyone else around. His hearing and sight was nowhere near the level 003 was burdened with but it was more than enough to play tricks on him at times. The girl and her parents over there, eleven people over there, squirrel in that tree, a flock of pigeons by that bench. There was no one else for some distance - except for the old man next to him.

He sneaked a glance only to be surprised when the man was a lot closer than he expected. Within striking range, he hated to admit.

"Never in my life did I ever think I'd see your face again. You can't be real."

The stranger circled him, inspecting with an eye framed by scarred skin. Dressed in a tweed overcoat, it hid the full extent of the rough discoloured blemishes branching up from his neck. He couldn't help but admit the man's skin reminded him of melted plastic and the friend he had come to see.

"No-no-no, there's no mistake. I remember you! I do," he lit up. The old man raised a cursory finger at Joe, "I tried to shoot you. Back in Vietnam."

Joe scrutinised the veteran. He must be delusional. He hoped.

"Sorry sir, but I believe you're mistaken. I'm far too young you see," he said with earnest.

And young he did appear. Cyborg surgery had left him with a body those age cream cosmetics would kill for. Appearing only eighteen, he was relying on that to pull a bluff over the man.

The veteran was not thrown however and Joe had trouble stopping nervous brushes of the pistol in his hand.

"I may be getting on in age but I'm still sharp. I remember you. There's no way I could forget how you melted the barrel of my rifle."

Melted his rifle? As surreal as this encounter was becoming Joe had trouble pinning down exactly which incident the man was accusing him of. There were a lot of years to go through. So many confrontations. So many countries. Joe chanced a look at the elders face hoping for a clue.

Burns.

Sure enough it didn't take long for things to fall into place.

* * *

Desperate screams of a woman reached out through the jungle drawing their attention. It brought a sobering moment to the three cyborgs dressed in bright red and yellow uniforms. They knew they were close to the conflict. They had only just stepped into the jungle that morning but already felt like they were wading through dry grass ready to spot with an inferno cracking at the tree line. Hell, the whole jungle felt ablaze with rage and fear. And here they were, supposed to track down evidence of the organization which wronged them.

Voices continued to shout through the dense jungle ahead. A quick glance revealed a ragged squad of soldiers.

"I am farmer, p-p-please. I mean you no harm," a woman's voice pleaded in broken English and muffled from the earth. The scream from earlier they realized. Shoulder length black hair clung to her face oddly. The weather may have been balmy and sticky but not this much. Her eyes were rimmed red and puffy.

"Man.. woman... who cares? You're all fucking spies."

One soldier, short but thick in his stature, stepped forward from the others delivering a quick blow to her head with the stock of his rifle. She collapsed into the mud, dazed and sputtering. The soldier squinted before waving his own over and nodding at the unconscious woman. Understanding, the second soldier raised a rifle to his dirtied shoulders and took aim.

 _Intervene,_ screamed the youngest cyborg's gut unable to standby any longer. Sensing the unease next to them, both 004 and 007 drew their weapons. They understood this could get messy very fast and took one last glance at their leader. It seemed the newest of them had already made a decision.

With a shout, 009 suddenly sprung from the position he had been perched upon.

That cry for attention did exactly as intended. The soldiers spun, quickly forgetting their current prey and focused on the new threat flying toward them. In a single bound, the cyborg closed the gap at inhuman speed. With practiced skill, the newcomer landed in the small clearing, barely taking any time to recover from the leap before shouting demands.

"Let her go; she's a civilian," he ordered. The soldiers stood dumbfounded, momentarily confused by the appearance of this lone red and yellow cloaked stranger. One of the soldiers rubbed his tired eyes.

"I said, let her go," he repeated resting a hand on the laser pistol holstered to his belt.

This subtle movement was all that was needed to result in 009 glaring down the barrels of no less than four M16s. 009 flinched slightly, still getting used to seeing the business end. A standoff probably wasn't the best idea but it was what came to him in the moment. At least they weren't focused on the woman anymore.

"Who are you?" the shorter one said uneasy and constantly adjusting the grip on his own firearm.

 _Please listen to me,_ the cyborg pleaded. "Drop your weapons and let her go. We don't want to hurt you but we won't warn you again."

At the mention of 'we' a few of the Americans nervously glanced around the forest but otherwise made no movement.

009 prepared to accelerate when suddenly a bullet screamed past his ear. It was so close he could almost feel the heat coming off of it. He barely had time to acknowledge the attack before a string of its brothers followed behind. One blow glanced his neck and another off his shoulder before ricocheting into the undergrowth. The rest were absorbed by the uniform and armored skin of his torso.

In reply, heated laser blasts streaked from the darkened tree line. His comrades, he registered. They were probably berating him. Well, the soldiers definitely weren't going to be compliant now.

Briefly, 009 pushed the radio chatter in the back of his mind aside as he flicked the switch embedded in his molar.

The world around him slowed. Sound distorted into a hollow echo before fading entirely. The incoming bullets slowed to the point it appeared they struggled to pierce through thick invisible liquid.

009 drew the super gun at his waist, already charged, and fired a quick shot at the first shooter's rifle. The laser cut through the air to its target with ease. In frozen time, the soldier's tired eyes flared wide, reflecting an untamed red glow. Sweat beaded his forehead providing purchase for the dirt of the jungle. His rough, immature stubble struggled to decide whether it was ginger or black. His lean physique portrayed a young man frightened.

* * *

Age and damage had changed the man's appearance over 50 years but Joe could certainly see resemblance to the young soldier who tried driving metal slugs through his skull. The marks on the old man's arms and face, of course! They were burn scars. And what was left of his beard finally decided on black.

He didn't think any of the American soldiers had survived that napalm bombing during their encounter. And after all this time he certainly didn't believe one would still be able to recognise him. Sure there always was the possibility but they tried to stay nothing more than an urban legend.

Yet this man remembered.

Joe's eyes sparked in realization before furrowing. "By memory, you were about to shoot an innocent woman."

The man stopped in his tracks like he'd stood on a landmine. His elated expression turned downcast. "That's..." He flexed his scared and calloused hands tentatively. "We di.. we did regrettable things. You probably understand that."

Joe scrunched his face at that last comment. "What did you want exactly," he questioned bluntly yet still somehow came off as polite.

"I'm not sure truth be told. I just saw you and couldn't believe my eyes. To be honest, if it wasn't for the stories I would have thought my eyes playing tricks on me."

Stories, huh? Joe scrutinized the old man. He seemed sincere enough but the cyborg couldn't shake this weary feeling. This wouldn't be the first time a stranger claimed to know him and then attempt murder moments later.

Joe reached his senses out again. Nothing immediately alarming. Gosh, he really wanted Francois here right now.

That excited energy of the old man's returned. "Are you busy right now? I have a bone to pick with you, I guess. Understand if you say no but I'd really like for us to talk."

He looked on pleadingly and added, "Please."

The cyborg shifted his weight, contemplating. Why did he get the feeling this curiosity went both ways.

"You can pick the place if it makes you feel better."

Joe brushed the bangs from his eyes and sighed regrettably. A small coffee shop he passed on the way here came to mind. "I know of a place," he turned to start walking.

Without missing the hint, the old man hobbled to join him.

"Charles," he puffed.

"Oh." That's right. They didn't even know each others' names.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Joe".

* * *

"Black will be fine, thank you," the brunette ordered still furrowing his brows at Charles and honestly this whole situation. Why had he agrees to come again? Oh right. Curiosity. And maybe some morbid pleasure in triggering traps.

As soon as the waitress left, the greying man wasted no time in getting to his point.

"You did spy work, didn't you? No... Special forces", he suggested. "What country did you work for?"

Joe sighed, unamused and hoped it hid the pressing feeling he was experiencing right now. _Please hurry_ , he silently wished to the waitress.

Remembering why he was here, the cyborg feigned his toughest glare, "Depends. What do you know or think you know?"

Charles somehow seemed excited at this question, almost puffing up in preparation.

"Well," he started, "You're a pretty secret bunch. Popping up in conflicts around the world all appearing the same as back in the sixties. No one knows who you're associated with. No country has claimed responsibility. Oh, and there's more than just the three I met in Vietnam, isn't there. You're a real conspiracy."

If it were any other situation he would have laughed at the 'conspiracy' comment. Usually it was them chasing after conspiracies instead. This man, though, seemed to have a thin but accurate grasp and that scared him. Joe tugged at the yellow muffler around his neck, suddenly feeling very tight.

"No country. We're independent," he squeezed out through pursed lips.

"So you still work for them now then? That's got to be what... at least forty years." Charles counted on his sausage-like fingers.

 _Not far off_ , Joe mentally added.

"We broke up in the early nineties."

It was in '92 they decided it was time they could focus on life again. Life outside of vigilante peacekeeping. Real life. But whether it was 'real' or not depended on who you asked. After more than half a life in service of humanity, what's to say that was the normal. They had split numerous times in the past, '65, '67, '77, but this time felt so... final. Joe berated himself for wanting the old days back. He missed sharing conversations with Pyunma on the roof at night. He missed Jet leaving his clothes everywhere and his zealous affinity for western movies. He missed Geronimo's calming aura that worked on even the most nerve wracking days.

Yes, they were all only a call or teleportation away but sometimes he felt it was more than the team that broke up.

"And here's your coffee, Sir! Careful, it's hot," the young waitress offered, placing the cup in front of Charles.

The old man smiled politely with thanks but as she turned he quickly swapped the drinks laid out in front of them. He brightened with the caramel milkshake now in his hands.

Joe had to admit, he didn't take Charles for a milkshake man when they ordered.

"So what are you doing here, then? Living in the states? That's got to be risky. I mean, you did oppose ol' Uncle Sam at times." The whipped cream on top of his shake was already gone.

Finally paying attention to his own coffee, the cyborg took a swig. Not the best roast but certainly acceptable. The waitress' warning was right but that didn't matter as he took yet another sip.

Charles stared, lost, at the scalding cup as if noticing something amiss. If he worked out what, he certainly didn't voice it.

"Holiday." _Visiting an old friend actually._

The scar faced man blinked slowly before finally registering the reply. Whatever had him transfixed broke.

"Guess even legends take breaks sometimes," he chuckled.

"Oh. I have another for you," his tone turned serious.

Joe really wasn't enjoying this game of 20 questions. For a moment he considered tuning the radio in his head to the commercial band.

"I was worried about asking before but it's fine now," he admitted, relaxing. "You don't look a day older. How have you managed that?"

Joe diverted his gaze to the world outside. He really didn't want to talk about this right now. _Shouldn't have finished that coffee so quickly_ , he thought placing the empty cup down. Briefly, he considered ordering another.

Charles interjected again, "Anything to do with being bullet proof too?"

Remembering the all too familiar weight of the pistol in his pocket the cyborg's tongue brushed across his accelerator switch. He weighed up the consequences again, not surprised when the answer was the same.

"I can't tell you. This really isn't the place," he answered simply.

Charles appeared disappointed at first but quickly seemed to understand and smiled. "Ahhh of course how foolish of me. The fountain of youth. Got it," he joked. "Well whatever you're doing I'm sure a lot of people would benefit from it..."

Charles didn't even get to finish his sentence as he was interrupted by a fist thumping the table.

Joe frowned. "I wouldn't wish it upon anyone," he glared keeping his voice low from the other patrons who thankfully didn't seem to notice.

Surprised by the sudden change in atmosphere, the old man began tapping his glass with leather like hands. He took a deep breath. "Ya know, after being airlifted out of the jungle in sixty five and sent back home to recover, I was ashamed. Actually, I think I was ashamed before that. We did a lot of terrible things. But really when you get down to the point, it was self preservation. Paranoid preservation... but still the same." He swallowed, "Coming back, I found it difficult to fit back in. You know - the typical things."

Joe raised an angry brow watching the man continue "...And for a long time I wasn't going so well. Lost my older brother in the war the same year. Then my Mom as well a few years later. Never knew my Dad so I didn't have any family left. Took up drinking again. I was angry... a lot", he admitted. "Then I started talking, ya know. To God at first." Charles deflated shuddering. "Didn't like it but after opening up a lot of the anger just... evaporated. I don't really believe in the guy, I'm not a religious man, but it was good to just let it out. How much do you talk?"

Joe bit his lip. He hadn't talked to God since the Father died, or anyone for that matter. At least, not since the team split again. Yes, they still kept in contact regularly but it wasn't the same as sharing the same space 24/7. Joe's cheeks nearly burned thinking about the team together. _No. They all have their own lives again. Including me._

"I didn't come here to be lectured." _I can work things out on my own._

"What did you come here for then? You could have said no." Despite being of similar age he hated to admit Charles was radiating this wise aura he shouldn't have. "I think I understand. I mean look at you. Time has moved on but you haven't moved with it. It must be lonely."

Joe suddenly felt like a claw hammer took a swing to his temple. That certainly hit a nerve. Glaring, he started wondering whether this man was some damn psychic. Wouldn't be the first one going through his mind like a filing cabinet, pulling out every insecurity and problem he had into the light. Not that he was particularly good at suppressing them anyway. How did Albert describe him once? Oh right. 'A kid who wears his glass-bottled heart on his sleeve'.

His eyes were starting to sting and he really wanted to blame this stranger.

"By the way..." Surprisingly Charles' eyes took on a sad forlorn look.

"I hope you enjoy the time with your friend. There isn't much left."


End file.
